


The Devil, He Don't Know

by ThrillingDetectiveTales



Series: Heaven Need a Sinner [3]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-22 20:39:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8300188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrillingDetectiveTales/pseuds/ThrillingDetectiveTales
Summary: "I'll say it as many times as I need," Faraday warned waspishly. "I'm fine. I'm tryin' to talk to you - "Vasquez outright laughed at that, dark and mean."Now you want to talk," he said disbelievingly, shaking his head.Faraday glowered at him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> WELL YOU ALL ASKED SO SWEETLY, HOW COULD I NOT?
> 
> While this may not be _exactly_ the happy ending y'all were anticipating, it _is_ still pretty happy. Though it's not exactly explicit within the text, my headcanon for this is that everybody survives. 
> 
> Probably there will be another installment after this, as I got sort of side-tracked by the emotions on this one rather than the raunchy Faraday/Vasquez porn, which is how this all started in the first place.
> 
> There are likely some medical errors, and potentially errors of the grammar, punctuation, and foreign language type as well. Please forgive me, and feel free to correct any that you run across!
> 
> Enjoy, loves!

By the time Faraday made it to the top of the staircase he was shaking with exertion, cold sweat beading on his neck, at his temples, and rolling down the line of his back. It had been just over a month and still, traversing the short incline to the second story of the boardinghouse was a Herculean task. At least, he considered dismally, he had managed to do it himself this time.

Though the rest of their motley party had moved on to new adventures or more temperate climes with their shares of the payout, Vasquez had stayed, haunting the periphery of Faraday's recovery.

The indignity of his weakness had been difficult enough to swallow on its own. Struggling through menial tasks with Vasquez there to witness his failure was nigh on unbearable. Vasquez hadn't said a word about it - hadn't said more than two or three at a time in Faraday's presence since before he almost blew himself all to hell, really - but Faraday could still feel it hanging over them like a shroud.

He allowed himself a moment to lean on the crutch tucked beneath his right arm, pointedly ignoring the sore pull of the freshly knit wound high on his bicep and the twinge low in his side.

He had assumed during those first few weeks, when every breath was agony, cognizance a series of brief flickers between bouts of pain and the dizzy mist of laudanum, that there would eventually be a sort of gleeful victory in taking a slug to the gut - and more besides - and living to tell the tale. Here at the top of the staircase, his good leg quivering underneath him, his other with a persistent, bone-grinding ache and a bad habit of buckling sharply when he least expected it, he considered glumly that maybe survival in the face of imminent death was less glamorous than he had hoped it would be.

He limped his way along the narrow hallway, to the room that the mistress of the boardinghouse had graciously agreed to let him keep, free of charge, during his long convalescence. It was a small blessing, and Faraday wasn't quite sure what to make of it, unused to such generosity and more suspicious of it than he probably ought to be, but he hadn't been up to much arguing while he was wrapped in bandages from neck to knee and spent most of his time fairly well toasted to stave off the debilitating ache of his body's slow healing. He fumbled with the handle for a second, pushing the door open with his good shoulder, and paused on the threshold.

Vasquez was sprawled across the bed in his white linen tunic and black slacks, a book open on his lap, sweaty from a day of helping tend fields - supposedly because he liked to keep busy, although Faraday had begun to suspect that the reality was more along the lines of his wanting to spare himself an abundance of Faraday's company. He glanced over when Faraday opened the door and arched an unimpressed eyebrow.

"You look like shit, mijo," he said, frowning. It was more words than Faraday had heard him say in a sequence since the first night he woke up in the infirmary, coaxed out of his fitful sleep by a familiar voice to find Vasquez sitting next to him, murmuring a long string of gentle susurrations in a language he didn’t understand.

"Oh, are you finally talking to me again?" Faraday asked waspishly, limping into the room and nudging the door shut with the heel of his bad leg just to make a point. His whole body hurt and all he had done to exert himself today was cross the fifteen feet to the saloon to play cards with a few of the surviving and recently returned locals.

Vasquez rolled his eyes and didn't respond, which only made Faraday's temper prickle hotter.

He huffed an exasperated sigh through his nose and shuffled across the room to the bed, flapping a hand at Vasquez's legs as he sidled up alongside the mattress. Vasquez wasn't wearing boots or socks, which was only logical considering where he'd elected to plant himself but made Faraday feel sort of funny all the same.

"Shove over," he said sharply. "I need to sit down."

Vasquez grumbled a little but obligingly drew his legs up, turning so that once Faraday had collapsed gratefully to the mattress they were sat side-by-side. Faraday let out a soft grunt of relief, leaning the crutch at the foot of the bed and curling his hands into loose fists against the coverlet, breathing slow and measured through the lingering tremors and aches.

"You could have asked for help," Vasquez muttered lowly, laying the book aside and shifting off the bed to settle onto his knees just in front of Faraday. He tapped his knuckles gently on the toe of Faraday's right boot, his bad leg. "Dámelo."

"You were already up here, apparently," Faraday grumbled, lifting his foot up despite the miserable shard of pain that stabbed through his thigh at the motion. "Besides, I did it just fine on my own."

"Eso debe ser por que parece que te estás muriendo," Vasquez said darkly, making quick work of Faraday's boot and sock before setting his foot gently back down on the ground.

"Don't do that," Faraday snapped, face gone warm with a twist of emotion that made his stomach lurch - a combination of visceral pleasure at having Vasquez's attention on him after spending so long in its absence, some distant cousin of embarrassment at the casual intimacy of the moment.

Underneath all that was an abiding current of frustration. Things between them had been teetering on a hairpin trigger for weeks, Vasquez with his dander up something fierce ever since Faraday had turned up in the infirmary, and Faraday having long grown tired of the snide asides in Vasquez's mother tongue that he couldn't even begin to defend himself from.

Vasquez glanced up at him.

"Do what?" he asked pointedly. "Help you?"

"Talk at me so I can't understand you just 'cause you're cross at me," Faraday huffed, anger forcing the words out of him before he got the chance to censor himself.

Vasquez blinked up at him, surprised, and Faraday's face went hotter. He pressed his lips into a thin line, chin jutting out obstinately while Vasquez stared up at him, dark eyes shot through with something Faraday didn't quite recognize.

"I'm not cross," Vasquez said after a long second, ducking his head and lifting Faraday's good foot up off the floor. "I'm _angry_ , guero. There's a difference."

"What, because I didn't ask for help with the stairs?" Faraday scoffed, disbelieving.

"Because you got shot four times!" Vasquez snarled, tossing Faraday's boot furiously into the corner of the room and rising to his feet like some ancient and wrathful creature.

Faraday gaped.

"Lots of people got shot!" he said insistently. “Some of them _more_ than four times!”

"Sí!" Vasquez agreed meanly, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring. "And they all died!"

"Well, I didn't!" Faraday protested. Vasquez threw his hands up into the air, turning to pace across the room.

" _Estúpido_ hijo de puta!" he hissed under his breath. He took a few hard steps, his broad shoulders a tense line with his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides, and then turned back and roared, " _You almost did!_ "

Faraday stared at him, taken aback. For all the amiable animosity between them, he'd never seen Vasquez this worked up - not even during the shootout, when Faraday had taken the first slug to his side and Vasquez had rushed out to defend him, leaving that twice-damned bastard of a hired gun collapsed in a coffin, thoroughly perforated.

He was drawn up high and tight, body compressed like a spring. His dark eyes were wide and wild, hands shaking, chest heaving with desperate breaths.

It wasn't anger, Faraday realized distantly, heart clenching viciously at the thought. It was fear; real and overwhelming. He swallowed, thick, and licked his lips.

"I didn't," he repeated, quieter.

Vasquez huffed a breath.

“No por falta de intentos,” he murmured darkly, accent thick with banked rage. He shook his head and turned away, pinching at the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath to steel himself before asking harshly, "You know I found you out there?"

"Yeah," Faraday croaked. "Yeah, I know. I," he hesitated, taking a breath and fumbling for his crutch, certain that if he took his eyes off of Vasquez even for a second he would regret it. "I don't remember, but they told me. After."

"It was a stupid risk," Vasquez muttered, glaring at the floor with distant fury in his gaze. "Already shot once, riding out without backup. _Estúpido_."

"It was _necessary_ ," Faraday insisted, bristling. His fingers brushed against the crutch just a little too hard and sent it thudding to the floor. Faraday muttered a curse and pushed himself to his feet without it, letting out a hard little breath as the motion jarred all the tender parts of him. He took a few awkward, hopping steps forward, trying to keep his weight off his bad leg with less success than he would have liked. "Without a distraction, Red wouldn't have gotten close enough to blow the wagon. That damned Gat would've shredded us all to pieces."

"And the distraction _had_ to be _you?!_ " Vasquez demanded, wheeling around furiously. When he saw Faraday wobbling awkwardly on one leg a few pitiful steps from the bed, he gritted his teeth and cast his gaze heavenward.

"Díos dame paciencia," he hissed before tromping over and offering Faraday a steadying hand. Faraday clasped it gratefully, hopping a little closer. On instinct, Vasquez brought his other hand up to Faraday's waist, balancing him while he frowned at Faraday's bare feet against the wooden floor. "What are you doing, guero? Sit back down."

Faraday shook his head, squeezing the hand that Vasquez had in his grip and setting his other gently at Vasquez's elbow.

"I'm fine," he said. Vasquez sighed exasperatedly and shook his head, glaring at the mattress over Faraday's shoulder.

"You're going to hurt yourself - " he started, and Faraday's temper snapped.

" _I'm fine!_ " he hollered, face hot, guilt and anger and other things, more difficult to decipher, winding together in his chest.

Vasquez closed his eyes for a long moment, taking a breath through his nose, and then turned his gaze on Faraday, scowling darkly. He looked exhausted, hard lines at the edges of his mouth, the hollows under his eyes deeper than Faraday remembered them being.

"Sit down, guero," he murmured again, quietly.

Faraday huffed, exasperated, and stubbornly hopped a little further forward. Vasquez shifted to accommodate the motion, letting Faraday hang most of his weight on their clasped hands as he stumbled closer.

"I'll say it as many times as I need," Faraday warned waspishly. "I'm _fine_. I'm tryin' to talk to you - "

Vasquez outright laughed at that, dark and mean.

" _Now_ you want to talk," he said disbelievingly, shaking his head.

Faraday glowered at him.

"I woulda done earlier," he spat, "but _somebody_ was busy ducking me like a damn coward - "

" _Cobarde?_ Quieres hablar de _cobardes_?" Vasquez snarled darkly, leaning into Faraday's space. Unbalanced as he was, Faraday stumbled back, hissing a pained breath at the twinge in his leg. Vasquez held him up, slipping the arm at his hip around his waist. Embarrassment bloomed on top of Faraday's frustration, his face positively glowing. "You weren't so brave the last time I tried talking."

Shame burned hot and bitter in Faraday's throat. He thought back to the night before the shootout, the desperation that had made him want to claw out of his skin, curled over top of Vasquez like he could make him understand if he could just move in the right ways.

"I - that - " he stuttered, shaking with it. The words were lodged in the sticky mess of frustration and shame and heat that he couldn't swallow down no matter how hard he tried.

"Eso es lo que pensé," Vasquez grumbled, vindicated, and ducked his head to capture Faraday's mouth in a hard, angry kiss, all sharp teeth and goading tongue.

Faraday pushed into it, furious and shaking, fisting his hands in the fabric of Vasquez's shirt. Vasquez growled in the back of his throat, pulling Faraday closer with the arm around his waist and reaching up to get his hand around the back of Faraday's neck. He kissed like a man possessed, hot and fierce and meaner than Faraday had ever seen him. It lit a fire all down Faraday's spine, rousing something in his belly that roared through him without mercy. He licked desperately into Vasquez's mouth, forgetting himself for a moment and pushing forward.

A searing shard of pain stabbed through his hip and his leg buckled, only Vasquez's arm around him keeping him aloft. He yelped, breaking away from the kiss with a gasp, and scrabbled to find his footing without further antagonizing his injuries.

"I told you," Vasquez murmured, exasperated but not unkind. He waited for Faraday to settle himself, leaning heavily on Vasquez to remain upright, and then slowly, carefully started guiding him backwards.

"What are you doing?" Faraday muttered, eyes trained on the floor, shuffle-stepping back as best as he could and clinging to Vasquez more than he was proud of.

"Trying your way," Vasquez explained lowly. Faraday's knees hit the edge of the mattress and he sank down, Vasquez leaning in to claim another kiss, less frantic but still with that knife-edge to it, searing Faraday all the way down to his toes.

"My way?" he asked, breathless.

"Sí," Vasquez murmured, hot against Faraday's mouth. He didn't offer any further explanation, just cupped Faraday's face in his broad palms and kissed him again, hungry and dark, with a heat to it that stung.

Faraday tilted his head up into it, tucking his fingers through one of Vasquez's belt loops, a low thrill in his belly at the way that Vasquez loomed over him. He felt pursued, hunted; like Vasquez was digging into him and unearthing every dark and ugly thing he'd ever sought to bury, dragging them out into the light. Vasquez bit into Faraday's lower lip - hard enough that Faraday hissed a gasp - and grinned wickedly into the kiss.

He set one of his hands to tugging Faraday's shirt free of his trousers, kept the other curled, big and warm and possessive, around Faraday's jaw. He licked past Faraday's teeth with deep, sweeping strokes that made warm coils of heat unfurl in Faraday's belly. Faraday moaned into it and tucked his fingers over the hem of Vasquez's pants, pulling absently at them in search of the button.

"No, guero," Vasquez murmured, shifting back just enough to speak. Faraday licked his lips.

"But - " he started. Vasquez shook his head and cut him off with a kiss.

" _No_ ," he rumbled, harsh and final. He pressed his teeth against Faraday's jaw line, a sharp drag that pulled a shiver up through his whole body. Reluctantly, Faraday let his hand fall, digging his fingers into the quilt to keep from reaching up again.

"Bueno," Vasquez murmured, trailing little licks and needle-sharp bites down the line of his neck. Faraday canted his head, baring his throat willingly, small desperate noises yanked out of him every time Vasquez's attentions landed on the side of too rough.

Vasquez set his teeth to the skin low on Faraday's neck, sucking hard enough that it hurt. There would be a mark there, tomorrow, he was certain. He hoped it would be low enough to cover.

Faraday was distantly aware that his entire body was trembling. He and Vasquez had barely touched one another since the shootout - an arm up the stairs or a passing hand to pull him up out of bed before he'd managed the strength to do so alone - and Faraday felt drunk with it.

The first few days he'd been confused, still groggy from the pain and the medicine, unwilling to admit that the cold pinch behind his lungs was hurt, and not some lingering symptom of the damage he'd taken. After that, the hurt had settled into bitterness, thick and sour like a slow-acting toxin. He'd thought -

Vasquez sank down to his knees and spread his palms across Faraday's hips, pushed the hem of his shirt up a little and nuzzled against the bare skin there. Faraday sucked a desperate breath, fingers tightening convulsively in the bedsheets.

It didn't matter what he'd thought. His throat and chest felt tight as he watched Vasquez trace his way to the curve of Faraday's right hip, mapping his path with teeth and tongue. It was a sweet, expanding pressure, like the air was too thin to breathe.

"Fuck," Faraday gasped. Vasquez chuckled, low and dark, and palmed his cock through his slacks. Faraday started to buck into it but his leg stalled at the motion, whole body shaking with the effort of rocking his hips forward.

"Good?" Vasquez asked, concerned. He glanced up from where he was pressing a kiss to Faraday's hip, that strange, sharp heat in his gaze. Faraday nodded.

"Good," he breathed. "Real good."

Vasquez turned his attention back to the task at hand, tugging Faraday's pants and drawers down until they were tucked under his thighs, cock on display, flushed dark and curved up toward his belly. He settled his palm low on the plane of Faraday's stomach, so near to touching him that all Faraday would have to do was roll his hips to bridge the distance.

He shivered, and shook, and hated that in that moment he couldn't even trust his body to such a simple task.

There were two scars on Faraday's right thigh - one a long line, more of a graze than anything, partially obscured by his bunched-up slacks, and one higher up, an angry knot where a bullet had eaten through, ricocheted off his femur and zipped back out again, taking a chip of bone with it as it went.

Vasquez hovered over them for a moment, gaze distant and shadowed, before closing his eyes like he was in pain and bowing his head. He dropped a kiss between them, a soft, reverent press of his mouth, and breathed shakily, "Eso estaba demasiado cerca, querido."

Faraday licked his lips and swallowed, thick, the corners of his eyes prickling. He could feel Vasquez's breath, warm on his thigh, and he lifted a quivering hand to thread his fingers through Vasquez's curls.

That sweet pressure in his chest felt too big to contain, pushing his ribs out and making his heart thud, sore and painful. Vasquez shuddered at the contact, exhaling in a sudden gust, sinking forward under Faraday's hand like it was too heavy to carry, stubble-rough cheek against Faraday's leg.

He swallowed, throat bobbing, and dragged his thumb across Faraday's belly to catch on the seam of his hip.

"I'm fine," Faraday murmured softly, and Vasquez sighed, eyes still closed, and nodded slowly. He huffed a breath and sat up, nudging Faraday's legs just barely further apart, licking a hot stripe up the inside of Faraday's hip. Faraday's stomach clenched.

Vasquez tilted his head and mouthed gently at the base of Faraday's cock, laving it with his tongue a few times in broad, wet strokes, before wrapping his palm around it. Faraday groaned and spread his legs a little wider. He still had his hand in Vasquez's hair - not pulling or guiding, just resting, feeling the motion as Vasquez took the head of his cock into the slick, wet heat of his mouth.

"Fuck," Faraday gasped, and Vasquez rumbled around him, sending little electric sparks out through his fingertips. He twisted his wrist, the callouses on his hand catching and dragging and Faraday whined, hips twitching up despite the discomfort in his leg.

The pace that Vasquez set was slow and maddening, the bright sparks in Faraday's belly shooting further out, burning stronger and brighter with every hot, sweeping pass of Vasquez's mouth around him, building up to a fever-pitch and crackling just beneath his skin. It had been weeks since he'd been touched, or touched himself, and he felt keyed up and hollowed out from the inside, skin too small to contain him. Vasquez swallowed him down, tight and warm, and Faraday's toes curled.

"Fuck," he groaned, voice gone low, "I'm gonna - I'm - "

Vasquez shifted closer, bobbing up and down one more time, twisting his wrist with a grip that was just barely too-tight. This time the sparks rose on the high crest of a wave, hot and tingling, pulled straight from the low, burning pit in Faraday's belly and kicking the pressure in his chest up so high that Faraday worried he would burst.

He gasped his way through it, Vasquez pushing in close and swallowing his spend, coaxing him through the aftershocks with a gentle, sure grip.

"Goddamn," Faraday breathed, as Vasquez pulled off. He let his hand fall from Vasquez's hair to his cheek, and Vasquez turned at the last second to press a kiss to the center of Faraday's palm.

"Understand yet, guero?" he asked, voice raw and rough, tilting his head to shoot a hooded gaze up at Faraday.

He looked gutted, torn apart inside and out, desperate and hopeful.

Faraday tugged him up by his collar, leaning forward despite the ache in his side so that he could claim Vasquez's mouth in a bruising kiss, chasing the taste of himself on Vasquez's tongue until he couldn't find it anymore. He pressed one last, lingering kiss to Vasquez's deliciously swollen mouth and then broke away with a sigh, their foreheads pressed together, eyes closed.

"I understand," Faraday breathed, tilting his head so that their noses brushed, catching Vasquez's lush mouth in another, softer kiss. He felt in danger of floating away, buoyed by the bright emotion behind his ribs that he didn't think he was strong enough to contain. "I do."

Vasquez slid his fingers into Faraday's hair, just behind his ear, thumb curving along the line of Faraday's jaw.

"Do you?" he pressed, with a little, hopeful smirk, dropping a kiss to the corner of Faraday's mouth with such tenderness that it ached. "Or are you humoring me?"

Faraday huffed a soft laugh and shifted back on the mattress.

"Why don't you come up here and find out?"

Vasquez moved out of the way so that he could pull his legs up onto the bed before climbing up himself. He laid down next to Faraday, barefoot and obviously hard even through his pants. Faraday felt a little ridiculous sprawled out beside him, loose and light and warm, unshucked from his waist to his knees.

He didn't have long to ruminate on it, as the moment that Vasquez was settled, he leaned over, one hand on either side of Faraday, face just a few inches away, and said quietly, "Tell me."

Faraday felt a hot flush bloom across his face and ducked his gaze down and away for a second, settling his fingertips against the shallow curve of Vasquez's waist.

Vasquez leaned in closer, bumped their noses together, and growled, "Tell me, querido. I want to hear you say it."

It had taken bravery, of a sort, to jump on the back of a horse and ride out to what Faraday had truly believed would be his last living deed. It had seemed easy, in the moment - weightless and righteous, so simple a solution that Faraday hadn't even had to think about it.

This was different. Harder, in ways that Faraday hadn't anticipated. He swallowed, that buzzing, humming pressure spiraling outward to the ends of his limbs, and glanced up at Vasquez.

"How do you say, 'I'm sorry'?" he asked, a little hesitantly.

Vasquez's eyes widened, surprised, and something soft fell over his face, warming the corners of his amused smirk and gentling the hard glint in his gaze.

"Lo siento," he said. Faraday licked his lips.

"Low see-yen-tow," he repeated, accent too wide, tongue tripping over itself. The delighted flush to Vasquez's face was worth the embarrassment, he decided immediately, eyes catching on the soft curl of his grin. He ran his fingers gently along the lean line of Vasquez's side, tucking them up under the hem of his shirt. "And how - " he stumbled, swallowing around a bright, tight knot in his throat, "how do I ask you to stay?"

"Quedáte conmigo," Vasquez supplied, voice a low, hoarse murmur.

Faraday was startled to realize that he recognized the words as one of the phrases that Vasquez had been saying that first night in the infirmary, running his fingers through Faraday's hair while Faraday, barely on the edge of consciousness, had gasped and sobbed at the red-hot fire alighting all down his right side.

"Kay-da-tay," Faraday said slowly, "cone - uh - "

Vasquez huffed a laugh, grinning.

"Conmigo," he repeated.

"Cone-me-go," Faraday said. He didn't even manage to take a breath before Vasquez was ducking in, stealing the words out of Faraday's mouth with the gentle curl of his tongue.

"Sí, querido," Vasquez said, pressing a kiss to Faraday's cheek, his jaw, his mouth again. "Sí, por toda sú vida, que si quieres. That means - "

Faraday pulled him down by the back of neck.

"You don't gotta tell me," he breathed, grinning into the kiss. "I know."

**Author's Note:**

> Translation time!
> 
>  
> 
>  **Dámelo:** Give me it  
>  **Eso debe ser por que parece que te estás muriendo:** That must be why you look like you're dying  
>  **Estúpido hijo de puta:** Stupid son of a bitch  
>  **No por falta de intentos:** Not for lack of trying  
>  **Estúpido:** stupid  
>  **Díos dame paciencia:** God give me patience  
>  **Cobarde? Quieres hablar de cobardes?:** Coward? You want to talk about cowards?  
>  **Eso es lo que pensé:** That's what I thought  
>  **Bueno:** Good  
>  **Eso estaba demasiado cerca, querido:** That was too close, dearest  
>  **Por toda sú vida, que si quieres:** For all your life, if you want
> 
> The wording of these phrases may change, as it is very late here at the mo' and I do not feel like grammar-checking myself in another language. <3
> 
> And since I know you're dying for exposition on how Faraday survived ( ;) ), here's the skinny: I didn't feel like science-ing my way through a solution to The Dynamite Problem so we're hand-waving that away with the assumption that Faraday was too far off to get himself kill't in a good old-fashioned explosion. My theory is that Red detonated it remotely by being very sneaky and very quick. How? No idea!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] The Devil, He Don't Know](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8480722) by [MistMarauder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistMarauder/pseuds/MistMarauder)




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